


But for now.

by barthelme



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 10:15:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15532053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barthelme/pseuds/barthelme





	But for now.

There are worse things Leo could do for money. Hell, he’s done worse things already. He had a paper route when he was thirteen and was a bagboy at the grocery until the summer after he graduated high school. His first year of college, he was a janitor in the dorms. This is exponentially less degrading than cleaning communal bathrooms.

“Fill out the top half,” the girl says. She’s small—shorter than Leo—and when she pushes the form across the counter, a thick lock of hair sweeps across her breast and he wants to tell her how pretty her hair is, how soft it looks, but then he realizes his eyes are fixed on her chest and he blushes, grabs a pen. She sits back on a stool and smiles. “Make sure you fill out your class schedule.”

Leo nods and fills in his name, age, address, phone number. He’s taking two online classes so his schedule looks bleak. The last question asks, “Will you pose undressed, partially or fully?”

He checks the box labeled no.

“You know,” the girl says when Leo hands the form back. He clicks the pen a few times. “If you pose nude, it’s like three dollars extra an hour. And you get more hours.”

Leo licks his lips, tries not to look at her hair, at her chest. Her breasts are small and he doesn’t think she’s wearing a bra. “Yeah,” he says. “Change that.” He thinks about going for a run later, after his night class.

 

Leo sits in the back of the classroom. Medical Sociology. He doesn’t hate the class; he likes it. But, everyone in this class is stupid and he says so in his notebook. He writes about the tall guy in the front who pronounces the “H” in “Hmong.” He writes about the girl next to him who thinks everyone who needs help is stealing her money. He writes about the homeless man he walks by every morning.

During break, he goes outside for a cigarette and checks his phone. Two texts from his roommate, David. One asking him if he can eat the leftover pizza. The other telling Leo he ate the pizza. Sorry.

It’s cold and Leo shoves his free hand in his coat pocket. Fingers a few coins and hopes he has enough for a Snickers.

 

Leo takes the long way home. He lives three blocks from campus, but he walks down to the lake, into the wind. It gets colder once he reaches the shore and he stands for a minute, kicking at one of the last clumps of snow on the sidewalk.

When he gets back to the apartment, the television’s on too loud and David’s reading a thick book with tiny print and no pictures. He’s pre-law with a minor in business; most days, he teases Leo for majoring in something like social work. Leo says, “The difference between lawyers and social workers is their hearts.” And David always smirks, replies, “And their wallets. I’m okay with an empty heart as long as my wallet is filled.

“Leo,” David says when the door slams. He doesn’t look up. “I’ll buy you pizza sometime, okay?” He flips a page and reaches for a glass of juice.

“Don’t worry.” Leo drops his bag on the recliner and stretches his arms over his head. Yawns. When he opens his eyes, David’s looking at him over the top of his textbook. But it’s not as though he’s really looking at him; it’s as though he’s pondering his presence, looking but really just sensing. Examining. “I’m going for a run. You want to come?”

“Is it cold?”

Leo doesn’t really answer him. He says, “Pussy,” rolls his eyes, and walks to his room. When he gets changed, though, he walks out to find David bent over, tying his running shoes in a neat bow.

“None of that marathon shit you made me do last week.”

Leo finds his hat between the couch cushion and pulls it over his head. His hair flips out and he thinks he might need a haircut. “Don’t come if you’re just going to bitch.”

“I don’t bitch.”

“You’re bitching about bitching.” Most days, Leo likes David. But tonight.

Leo opens the door and lets it fall shut behind him, uses the wall across from their apartment to stretch. A few moments later, the door opens and David comes out. “You don’t have to be so—”

“Oh my God,” Leo says as he starts for the stairs.

 

They run in silence and Leo never lets David get ahead of him. The air is cold and when they get back to the apartment, Leo lets David shower first. He checks his e-mail and responds to a message from his mom. “I’m good,” he types. “I got a job, sorta.” He says he got an A on his midterm, but he really got an A-.

“An A- won’t get you a job,” he can hear his parents saying. He can hear himself saying.

When David gets out of the shower, Leo doesn’t look, but he notices a trail of water trickling across his chest, down to his belly button.

 

Leo’s not sure if it’s worth the money.

It his first job and he’s perched on a stool in the front of the room. There’s twenty-three students; he’s counted them twice. Seven girls. Three who are pretty. One he would fuck. She’s blond and has thick thighs and thin face.

The professor walks back and forth across the back of the room, sometimes approaching a student and pointing at certain areas on their sketch pad. He smiles at Leo, sometimes.

Leo’s hair is tickling his cheekbone. He needs to cough, but he hold it in until his eyes water.

 

Later, there’s a pizza box on the kitchen counter. Leo opens it; the pizza’s lukewarm but it’s all there. Ham and pineapple.

“You like ham, right?” David asks from the doorway to his room. He’s in sweat pants and a cut off shirt. His ribs are sharp.

“Yeah,” Leo nods. “Do we have beer?”

It’s Thursday night. Leo has to be in one of the art rooms at eight the next morning, but he stays up with David, quizzing him on legal terms. Important dates. As David gets drunker, he seems to do better. As David gets drunker, he seems to get better.

 

Leo’s tired; he doesn’t mind sitting still. This time, he’s on the floor, cross-legged. “Now,” the instructor says. “His face. What are his eyes saying?” The students haven’t even opened their sketch pads. They’re just staring. “What did he do last night?”

A girl in the front—Leo would not fuck her, ever. Never.—says, “He had dinner with a friend.”

“Male or female?”

The girl cocks her head to the side. “Female.”

Another student speaks up—a boy. He looks young. “He had class.”

“What class?”

“Lit, probably.”

There’s a soft murmur and finally, a small boy, not much bigger than Leo, says, “He’s hungover.” The class laughs.

Leo smiles at him.

“Okay, open your sketch pads. I want you to focus on his face. What does his face say? I should be able to tell just by glancing at your drawing.”

 

After the session, Leo is heading down the hall when he hears someone running, their sneakers squeaking against the tiles. “Hey,” the boy says. “Was I right?”

“Were you right?”

“You’re hungover, yeah?”

Leo shrugs. “Yeah. A little.”

The boy smiles and it makes Leo smile, makes him smile a bit too much. He wants to cover his mouth, hide his teeth, but he doesn’t. “Cool. Here, I drew this.” He hands Leo a folded piece of parchment. “I’ll see you around?”

And then he’s running toward the door, hand hooked on one of his belt loops to hold up his pants.

Leo unfolds the paper. It’s a drawing a hands, folded on top of crossed legs. Underneath, in scratchy handwriting, it says, “I’d like to photograph you. –Cesc.” There’s a number but he can’t tell if the second digit is a two or a seven.

 

Leo puts the drawing in his desk drawer and takes a nap. David’s at work and the apartment is quiet.

 

When Leo goes to pick up his paycheck, the same girl is there. “Was it terrible?” she asks.

“No,” he taps the envelope on the counter and tries to think of something to say.

She bites her lip and turns back to the copier, which is spitting out paper. “Well, have a good day.”

He doesn’t bother to wish her the same. Her hair’s in a messy bun.

 

Leo has a test in his online class. Social Problems. He takes it with his book and notes open, furiously scanning all of them. “David,” he says, rushed. “Look up the minority population in urban areas.”

David doesn’t question him, just types something into Google and says a percentage. “You want some water?” he asks. Leos nods.

He only gets one question wrong.

Later, they’re watching television and Leo says, “I’m so sick of this show.”

And David says, “It’s like, the highest rated drama in—”

“I don’t fucking care. Seriously, this is the last episode.”

“No.” They both reach for the remote and David gets there first, hugs it against his chest.

Leo rolls his eyes and stands up, walk to his bedroom. He lies down and closes his eyes; they’re sore and he wants to sleep, but he’s not tired. His body is awake.

Leo hears the intro to the show starting and he rolls his eyes and shoves his arm up under the pillow. A few minutes later, his door creaks open and the bed sinks under added weight. “Hey,” a hand on the back of his thigh. “I’ve seen this episode.”

Leo groans.

“You can watch what you want.” When Leo doesn’t move, David sits beside him, pats Leo’s head. They’re silent for a moment, then David says, “I hate being older than everyone.”

David started school when he was Leo’s age. Works full time and can’t take a full load of classes. Retakes any class he gets less than an A in.

“Like, I don’t know anywhere here.”

“You know me,” Leo says into his pillow.

David lies down. Leo hears the clunk of his shoes hitting the floor. “I know you,” David says. “I know you.”

They talk and their conversation become slower, languid, until Leo’s telling him about the failures of health care and he realizes that David isn’t responding, not even with grunts or nods. “David?” Leo looks over. His face is pressed against the mattress and his shirt is riding up. He looks thin, too thin. Soft. Leo wants to tell him how soft he looks, wants to feel how soft he is, but he doesn’t.

He goes to brush his teeth and when he comes back, David’s moved. He’s in just his boxers, curled in a ball. Leo takes his pants off, but he leaves his shirt. “David,” he whispers, crawling under the covers, “Come on.” He wrestles with him for a minute until David gets under the covers. The heat of his body is almost too much, but Leo lies close to him, so close that when David moves, Leo can feel his skin.

It’s not as soft as it looks.

 

Leo calls Cesc. He guesses the number is a two and he guesses correctly. The call goes straight to voicemail and he says, “Hey, this is Leo. Um, you drew my hands? And said you wanted to photograph me. Um, so. Yeah, I guess call me back.”

Cesc does call back, and he sounds excited and is rambling about Leo’s eyes, his hair, the shadows. They meet outside the library and Cesc has a bulky camera handing around his neck; it looks expensive. “Okay, okay, so,” he starts, explaining what he wants to do and Leo just nods and pushes his hair back behind his ears.

It doesn’t take long (just some shots throughout the town; Leo doesn’t even have to pose. Just walk.) and Cesc buys Leo a muffin and some coffee from the bakery. They sit and talk and Cesc takes pictures of Leo as he picks at the cranberries. “You have a really nice face,” Cesc says. “Like, it’s just.” He shrugs, like that’s supposed to explain it. “Can we do some studio shots sometime? Or is this weirding you out? Am I weirding you out?”

Leo shakes his head and laughs. “No, it’s cool.”

 

A few days later, he gets an email from Cesc. “Here are some of the shots,” the body says. Leo opens the attachments and looks at the pictures. The colors are muted and most aren’t even centric on Leo. He seems to be a border, almost.

Leo likes them. He sets one as his background. In it, he’s walking away from the camera, tracing his hand along the bricks of a building.

 

Leo has a presentation in Latin American Literature. Modernismo. The class itself isn’t bad and it counts towards his humanities credits. But, he’s not very food at analyzing literature. He just likes reading.

He spends the weekend preparing. Practices in front of David, who says, “You talk to fast.”

“Quit interrupting me,” Leo says and tries to find his spot again. Rubén Darío.

The presentation goes well, even if Leo mispronounces a few names and forgets a few dates. He gets an A. Reminds himself to slow down the entire time.

 

Leo and David go for a run. It’s a Friday night and it’s warm enough that Leo wears shorts and a hoodie. “You’re going to be cold,” David says, but Leo doesn’t care.

They’re a couple miles from their apartment—they’ve been running in a straight line—when David slows, his pace stuttering. “God damn,” he mutters before coming to a stop. Leo looks behind him, circles, and heads back. “My leg’s cramping up,” David says. He massages his thigh, his knee.

“You’re getting old,” Leo says, wipes at the back of his neck. His cheeks are red.

“Yeah and you’re—” David stops when Leo bends over and presses his palm against David’s thigh. “No, the back,” he says and Leo presses against the muscle, kneads.

They walk back to the apartment and Leo lets David lean against him, holds David by the waist. It’s cold and Leo holds him a bit closer than need be.

 

“Okay, now,” the professor says, motioning toward Leo. “Don’t slouch.” The air is cold against Leo’s chest. He sucks in what little belly he has. “And look past the students. At the wall. Like you’re searching for someone.” To the students, he asks, “What is he searching for?”

They answer, but Leo can only see the girl in the front row, her long hair braided. He breasts. She’s definitely not wearing a bra. Leo would fuck her but he’s not sure if he’d like to.

Afterwards, he meets Cesc in one of the studios. “Okay, okay, so I wanted to just work on angles. I have a show coming up? In the spring. I mean, you’d have to sign a bunch of shit but—you don’t mind, do you?”

Leo shakes his head; he doesn’t. Cesc doesn’t ask him to search for anything. Just tells him to sit on the floor and look up.

 

They go back to Leo’s apartment. David’s on the couch, reading. “Leo, do you want to go for a run?” He doesn’t look up, doesn’t see Cesc.

“Um,” Leo starts and David looks up, stares at Cesc.

“I’m Cesc. You must be David. Leo told me you like to run. And are going to be a lawyer. And make a lot of money.” He speaks in choppy sentences. Normally, his words flow like water, never ending.

“Hey,” David says. He doesn’t bookmark his page, just closes his textbook and sets in on the couch. “Nice to meet you. I have to go run.”

They go to Leo’s room and Leo can hear David slamming doors and stomping.

“He makes me nervous,” Cesc says. He flops on Leo’s bed. “Does his face always look like that?”

“Like what?” Leo sits down and pulls a pillow to his lap.

Cesc shrugs. “Bitchy.”

Leo laughs and nods. “Most of the time.”

They talk about classes. Leo talks about his GPA. His mom. Leo hears David come back from his run, sees him go to the bathroom. He takes a long shower and when he’s done, he stands in Leo’s doorways and asks, “I was going to order Chinese.”

Cesc stares at the ceiling and Leo watches water collect in David’s belly button. He looks slick.

 

Cesc leaves—“I don’t like Chinese,” he says—and David asks, “Who is he?” the moment the door closes behind him.

“A friend.”

“You’ve never talked about him.”

Leo shrugs. “Yeah, I don’t know. I met him through work.”

“That art thing? He doesn’t look like an art student.” Leo doesn’t know what that means and he says just that. David explains, “Like, he doesn’t look fruity.”

“Fruity?”

David nods. “Yeah. He doesn’t look like an art fag.”

The doorbell rings and David gets up. The food smells good but Leo’s not really hungry. They eat in silence and finally, David says, “There’s nothing wrong with that, you know.”

Leo grunts and snaps open a fortune cookie. The fortune reads, “Your tongue is your ambassador.” His lucky numbers are 36--43--1--37--48—9.

 

They don’t talk for a week. They speak, but only the necessities. (Is this your bread? Do you have my red shirt? Rent is due. Could you clean your hair out of the drain after you shower? It’s disgusting.) Leo spends a lot of time at the library and with Cesc.

“I don’t see how this is art,” Leo says. He’s pushing his pants down his hips. A blue lighter falls from his pocket and clatters across the cement. They’re on top of Cesc’s apartment building and it’s almost warm.

“You wouldn’t,” Cesc says. “You smoke?”

Leo nods and steps out of his jeans. He reaches for lighter, says, “Trying to quit.”

“Would you smoke right now?”

Leo shrugs and rummages in his jeans for his cigarettes. The cement scrapes his feet but he hardly feels it. He’s been running a lot this week and his toes and heels are numb. His lungs hurt.

He sits on the ledge of the building, his back to the city. There’s no wind. “What do you want me to—”

“Just whatever you normally do.”

“I don’t normally sit in my underwear on rooftops.”

“That’s okay,” Cesc says and brings his camera to his face.

Leo finishes his cigarette and stubs it out on the cement. He wants another but instead he leans forward and runs his fingers through his hair. He needs a haircut.

After a few minutes, Cesc asks, “Would you pose nude for me?”

Leo shrugs. “I guess.” He stands up and hooks his thumbs on the waistband of his briefs. Cesc lowers his camera, bites his lip.

For a moment, they lock eyes and Cesc smiles and Leo blushes and he starts to push down his briefs, but Cesc says, “Not now.”

“Not now?”

Cesc brings the camera back to his face. The shutter clicks. “I was just asking if you would.”

Leo rolls his eyes and let his hand rest on his belly. “I need another cigarette.”

 

Later, they’re at a diner and Cesc points at a girl with long hair. She’s pretty, but not gorgeous. Leo likes that. “That right there,” Cesc says, “is the girl I’m going to marry.”

“Yeah?”

Cesc nods. “I come here like. Three times a week. I’ve talked to her twice. The next time I talk to her, I’m asking her out.”

Leo laughs and grabs his coffee. It’s still too hot and he sips, cautious. “She’s too hot for you.”

Cesc looks indignant; kicks him under the table. “At least she doesn’t have a bitchface.” He narrows his eyes and for a second, Leo sees text books and tight muscles and soft skin.

“What the hell does that mean?”

Cesc rolls his eyes. “I need you to sign some forms. For the art show. If I sell anything, you get a portion of the profit. Did I tell you that?”

Leo laughs. “Yeah those pictures of me in my underwear are going to be selling like hotcakes.”

Cesc smiles. “You have a nice face.”

 

Leo ignores everyone in his night class. They’re watching a movie. He writes in his notebook about how he wishes it was summer already. How he wants to feel the heat on his face and his shoulders, wants to wear shorts. He can’t wait to go home and see his mom, go swimming. Get away from David.

He writes about David and how his brows furrow when he reads, how he mouths the words. How he’s always angry but never mad. He writes, “Like, I’m mad because of him but not at him. But I don’t know why.”

Leo takes the long way home. When he gets to the apartment, he goes straight to his room; David’s in the kitchen. He doesn’t turn on his light or close his door. His bed is cold.

It’s long minutes before he hears footsteps and David’s voice. “Leo?” Closer. “Look, I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry, okay?”

Leo shrugs but it’s dark.

There’s shuffling and David curses when he trips over a shoe or a shirt—Leo’s not sure. And then the bed creaks under his weight and his hand is on Leo’s back, thumb pressing against his spine. Hard.

“I don’t like this. When you’re. You know. At me.” He’s silent—they’re silent—for a long time. David presses his hand up Leo’s spine, settles on the nape of his neck. His palms are sweaty. Hot. Finally, “You’re like. The only one I know here. I got jealous.”

Leo rolls over and David’s hand is on his collarbone. “Okay.” He sits up and leans in and for a second, a moment, David cocks his head to the side, lets his eyes close and Leo thinks he could, he should, maybe. But he doesn’t and, instead, hugs him. Wraps his arms around David’s neck and holds him close, pulls him back on the bed.

David fits between Leo’s legs like a penny between couch cushions. He sinks against Leo’s body and molds into his arms, as if no one could find him here.

“I’m scared,” Leo says into the dark. He thinks David might be asleep. “Like, if I fuck this up, what do I have? I don’t even think I like Social Work anymore.”

There’s an empty silence and finally, David’s words come like fog against Leo’s chest. “You have heart,” he whispers.

Leo tries to stop himself, but then he’s pressing his lips to Villa’s head.

 

Leo doesn’t get any calls from the art department for a few weeks. Cesc says, “It’s almost the end of the semester. We’re doing projects and stuff. Don’t need models. And if we do, we find our own.” He slides a form across the table. “Sign the bottom. Don’t worry about the date. The show is next weekend. You need to wear a tie. And get a haircut for fucks sake.”

Leo notices a number scrawled across the inside of Cesc’s arm. He wants to mention it, but he doesn’t.

 

David kisses Leo. It’s Sunday and Leo has an exam on Monday and he’s not prepared for it and if he gets lower than a B+ he can’t get an A in the class and he needs an A. He takes notes and rewrites them. Reads them over again. Reviews the chapter. Makes note cards and has David quiz him.

It’s past midnight and David says, “I’m going to bed.” He stands up and stares at Leo, waits. Then, “Don’t stay up too long, okay? You’re going to do fine.” He leans over the back of Leo’s chair, presses his lips to his neck, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “Night.”

Leo reads the same sentence twelve times before he licks his lips and tastes ice cream. Mint chocolate chip.

 

Leo gets a haircut and for a week, he keeps trying to push his hair out of his face. Except, there’s no hair to push. David keeps saying, “You look so,” and shrugging. But he smiles and Leo knows that’s a good sign.

Cesc says, “Shit, we need to take more pictures. Shit, shit, shit.”

And they do. They’re at Leo’s and David’s at work and South Park is playing in the living room. “No, don’t make it,” Cesc says. He pulls the pillow out of Leo’s hands and throws it on the bed. “Take your clothes off.”

Leo bites his lip and stares at the ground.

“You mean, you’ll get naked on a roof top but not in your bed? Jesus, no wonder your sex life sucks.”

Leo wants to disagree, but he hasn’t had sex since November. Even then, it wasn’t very good. He was drunk. The girl was too loud. Instead, he says, “Yeah, and yours is so much better.” But he takes his clothes off and drops them in a pile. “Now what?”

Cesc brings the camera to his face. “Lay down.”

So he does and his cock falls against his hipbone; his first reaction is to cover himself up, but he stops. Grips the sheets.

Cesc huffs. “Look, you can try to act like I’m not going to molest you. I don’t want your dick. Christ.”

Leo laughs and closes his eyes. Rests his hand on his belly. He can feel the sun across his face.

“These are going to look so good,” Cesc whispers. “Jesus.”

Leo stops thinking. He brings his leg up, knee bent, and puts his hand behind his head.

 

They’re in bed. It’s early on a Friday. Neither have class or work or anything, actually. It’s raining and Leo likes waking up to the pitter patter of rain on his windows, on the roof.

David brought his blanket into Leo’s room and curled up on the edge of the bed a few hours ago. Now, he’s cross-legged. The blanket is pulled over his head like a cape. Leo’s pulled his quilt up to his chin. “You should come to Cesc’s show.”

“Cesc?” David’s eyes narrow.

“Yeah. The art fag.”

David rolls his eyes and falls down beside Leo. He’s warm, even though the blankets. “Are there pictures of you?” Leo nods. “Okay. When is it?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I work.”

“Then come after.”

Leo turns his head and smiles. He runs a finger down the bridge of David’s nose. He wants to kiss him, but he doesn’t.

 

Leo doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like seeing his picture everywhere. Doesn’t like watching people examine pictures of him. So, after twenty minutes, he goes outside and smokes. He walks around the block a few times. His phone vibrates and he checks his messages. They’re all from Cesc (Where are you?) except one, from David. “I like looking at you.”

Leo finishes his cigarette and goes back. It’s late and the crowd is thinning out. There’s a few professors lingering around; a couple recognize Leo and nod. Smile.

Leo keeps his head low as he looks for David. He finds him—and Cesc—in front of a series of pictures from the day on the roof. “His eyes,” Cesc explains, gesturing widely. “They’re like. If you can see his eyes. Like really see them—”

“You can see everything.”

Cesc nods. His smile is wide. Across the room, there’s the series from the bedroom and Leo blushes.

“How much is this one?” David points at a close-up up Leo. He’s looking down and he’s smiling.

Cesc opens his mouth, closes it. Opens it. Scratches his head. “Well, I’ve never. Like. Sold anything before. So.”

“Fifty good?”

Cesc’s eyes go wide and Leo’s mouth opens. He wants to say, “You know, you can see me every day.”

“Fifty’s awesome,” Cesc says.

 

They walk home and Leo says, “You didn’t have to buy that, you know.”

“Yeah,” David says.

Leo kicks a pebble a few feet in front of them. When they catch up to it, David kicks it into traffic.

 

That night, they stay up eating tacos and watching late night movies on HBO. David says, “Tits never look that good.” Leo thinks about the girl in the art building with the hair. He’s pretty sure her tits would look that good.

When Leo’s eyes won’t stay open, he stands up and stretches, feels David’s eyes on his torso. “Bed?” he asks.

David nods and turns the television off. Leo walks to David’s bedroom and David follows, turning off lights as he goes.

When they’re in bed and the lights are off, pants and shirts on the floor, David crawls between Leo’s legs, rest his head on his sternum. Follows the rise and fall of his chest. He’s heavy but Leo wraps his arms around his shoulders, thumbs his skin.

“Leo,” David says. “Would you? With me?” He doesn’t say it, but Leo knows. He presses his palm against David’s back and slides it down his spine, cups his ass. He’s soft, everywhere. “I mean, sometime. Eventually.”

Leo nods and squeezes David’s flesh, kisses the top of his head. “Yeah.” He grins into the darkness.

 

In the morning, David’s mouth tastes stale, but his tongue is hot and his cock is hard against Leo’s belly. Leo grins against his lips, digs his thumbs into David’s sides, and grinds up against him.

When David pulls back, his cheeks are red. He braces his hands on either side of Leo’s head and thrusts down against him. Trite grunts press from his lips and he stares down at Leo, eyes lidded, licks his lips. “Yeah?” he asks, pressing hard against Leo. “Like that?”

Leo nods and slips his hand inside David’s boxers, presses his thumb against his entrance. He feels the tremble of David’s thighs, hears the gasp that drowns into a moan.

Leo wants to fuck him, but for now, this is okay.


End file.
